A character in need of a new author @nyrbclassics #germanlitmonth

Charles Bovary, Country Doctor by Jean AmeryTranslated by Adrian Nathan West

Well – I’ve managed to clamber out of the Baudelaire-Benjamin rabbit hole for the time being (although I *am* still reading Baudelaire’s poems!), and I’ve been sidetracked rather unexpectedly off to France. Yes, I know I have a pile of French Revolution books lurking, and yes I know that this one wasn’t on it (it’s a lovely review copy from NYRB). But there are unexpected resonances with 1789 in what is really a rather unusual work…

Amery himself is a fascinating character; born Hans Maier in Vienna (his father was Jewish and his mother half-Jewish, half Catholic), he fled the Nazis to France and then Belgium, where he joined the Resistance. Surviving torture and Auschwitz, he went on to write under the pen-name Jean Amery and probably his most famous work is “At the Mind’s Limits”, a collection of autobiographical essays looking at his state of being as a Holocaust victim and survivor. “Charles Bovary…” might seem to be a very different kind of book, but there are certainly parallels.

The book is subtitled “Portrait of a Simple Man” and takes up the story of the titular doctor after the death of his wife, Emma, the main protagonist of Flaubert’s “Madame Bovary”. The initial pages, a heartbreaking monologue from Charles depicting his grief at her death, are actually acutely painful and difficult to read; here is a man’s suffering laid bare, with the loss of his wife almost too much for him to cope with. The child has lost her mother; the husband his wife; and Charles Bovary is revealed as a man almost obsessed with his love for Emma and his physical need for her. This grief leads him to meditate on the events which led up to her death; her infidelities; his failures as a man and a husband; and his inability to give her the kind of love and romance she craved. However, Amery takes the book in an unusual direction by blending these monologues with essays of his own on the whole Bovary story; and he begins to state a case for Charles having been given a very raw deal by his creator.

The lines between Charles and Amery become blurred, and the latter clearly has issues with Gustave Flaubert and his portrayal of the cuckolded M. Bovary as a pathetic and laughable creature who deserves what is meted out to him. Not only does Amery find Charles unconvincing as a character, calling into question Flaubert’s art and the claims made for it as realist fiction; he also sees Bovary as anything but realistic and goes on to critique not only Flaubert’s writing but also his intellectual heritage and legacy, finding him a lesser artist than his protegé Maupassant.

At the heart of Amery’s issue is his belief that Charles Bovary could never have existed as Flaubert portrayed him. He reminds the reader that Flaubert was an incorrigible haut bourgeois who was dependent on his father’s money, whereas Charles was a petit bourgeois self-made man; yet the latter is portrayed as a clod even though he had fought against his limitations and made his way in the world. Amery offers alternative, much more convincing scenarios of how such a man would have been, how he would have behaved in the situations Flaubert created, and finds the latter’s imagination to be very wanting. Taking a wider view of French fiction, he even takes Flaubert to task for nothing less than betraying the French Revolution in denying Charles the rights fought for during the conflict of liberté, égalité, fraternité, “the undying principles of 1789” as he reminds us. Amery rails against Charles’ passive acceptance of lesser status as unworthy of a man who is the product of a country which had killed its monarchs, arguing that a more convincing rendering would have been of a man who knew that he was equal to any other.

What we see before us is a man from the bourgeois monarchy of Louis-Philiipe. The great adventures of the French nation have come to an end; the universal allure of the Revolution, the imperial-pathetic escapade of Napoleon 1, the Grand Armee dreamer, have run their course. In Waterloo, the eagle, rapacious hunter and heraldic seal, is beheaded; only once more will he rise from the ashes as the outsized general with the oddly small mouth uttering phrases that are the grandest, most solemn literature, before flying off and vanishing forever in the heavens.

In many ways, Amery believes the creation and ultimate fate of Charles Bovary was Gustave Flaubert’s reckoning with the bourgeoisie from which he never escaped. However, his re-working requires acceptance of the possibility of a very different Charles Bovary: one who would have been capable of being a passionate lover; one who could have sent his wife’s lovers packing; one who could have answered back those who bullied him during his life; and one who was so physically obsessed by the beauty of his wife that masturbation and necrophilia crop up as subjects in Amery’s revision of his character.

Do you need to have read “Madame Bovary” to fully appreciate Amery’s book? Well, yes… I read it some time ago and my memories are minimal, so I did check out a plot summary online – which is probably not sufficient to take in all the nuances of the original or to appreciate all Amery’s points. And I need to add a caveat I think. Flaubert’s book is focused on a female character and her needs; this aspect is perhaps diminished by Amery’s reading of it and it’s a focus for which Flaubert should be congratulated. In an era when women’s choices were still very restricted he gave female desires a voice. For the story which Flaubert wanted to tell it was necessary for Charles to be stolid and stupid; although Amery in some ways disputes the point of “Madame B…” as in the end there is a predictable inevitability in the fact that the transgressing women has to be punished in a way that will satisfy the moralists.

“Charles Bovary…” was an intriguing, if at times complex, read. The book is very much an intellectual exercise and your response to it will depend on how willing you are to follow Amery down his path and accept his reinterpretation and reworking of the characters of Gustave Flaubert. Certainly, it’s a fascinating piece of work which left me with much to think about as well as many questions about how much we trust our authors – and whether we should be a lot more critical of how they treat their characters!

Review kindly provided by NYRB, with many thanks to Emma O’Bryen.

*****

I’m claiming this book for German Lit Month too; I hadn’t realised till I picked it up that Amery wrote in that language, so that makes three unexpected and unplanned entries for the reading month. Not like me to manage to participate…. 😉

Additionally, after finishing “CB”, it occurred to me that I had owned a copy of “At the Mind’s Limits” and that I had probably purged it in my recent attempts to downsize the amount of books in the house. However, I had a dig and found that it was still lurking in a donation box:

It had been sitting on my Primo Levi shelf for some time; I’m not sure if I have the moral and intellectual courage for it at the moment, as the world we’re living in seems so full of intolerance and hatred that I’m rather afraid I will see the present reflected in the past. But we shall see; it’s certainly been reprieved from the donate pile…

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Sounds rather interesting. I wasn’t aware of this at all, so thanks for the heads up. Apologies if I’ve missed this in your review, but when was the book written/published in relation to Madame B? How soon afterwards?

It’s a long time since I read Mme B, same as you, so I’m not too taken by your account of this response. Reminds me of J Barnes’ riff on GF in Flaubert’s Parrot – read about the same time as Mme B, but which I recall enjoying a lot. Sends you back to the three novellas, especially Un coeur simple.

See, I read Flaubert’s Parrot when it first came out and I can’t remember *anything* about it! 😀 But this certainly made interesting reading, though I think if I re-read Madame B I might well have a more nuanced response…

Hm, I’m not entirely convinced by his line of argument. If Flaubert had written the character of his doctor in a different manner to make him more sympathetic, then it would (for me) have diminished the point of the book. Dr Bovary represents for Emma a world that she rejects because she is a romantic and idealist. If he was more sympathetic he rejection would have been less convincing

I can see where Amery is coming from, in that he doesn’t find the character credible. However, my caveat came from the fact that I felt that Flaubert wrote the character like that deliberately so that he would tell the story of Emma, a woman who wanted more than she could be offered by a stolid country doctor. To follow Amery completely, you have to accept a totally different personality for the doctor and that begs the question of whether it would have worked in the context of Flaubert’s novel – which I doubt it would have, it would instead have been a completely different novel, and I wonder if it would have reflected the needs and desires of its female lead quite so much.

Well, a good question! It’s listed online as part fiction, part philosophy, which is no help. The majority *is* probably fiction, and it *deals* with fiction and a fictional character. Kirkus Review calls it a novel…

Sounds fascinating, not a book I was aware of at all. I re-read Madame Bovary a few years ago, and I really loved it. I always felt terr for poor Charles. However, I think I agree with Karen (Booker talk) too, Bovary may have been a little too ridiculous at times but he was representative of all Emma has turned away from. Great review.

Thanks Ali. I tend to be slightly conflicted in my reaction to the book – I do feel sorry for Bovary in the same way as I do for Karenin in Anna Karenina. Yet in both cases the wife was being stifled. I think one of the problems we women have in life is always feeling sorry for men…. 😱

Indeed he does – although mainly because he believes the character should have been written completely differently! It’s not always an easy book to read but it’s ultimately rewarding and very thought provoking.

Well, I’m not at all ready to follow Amery down that path, nor would Julian Barnes be, I’m sure. I find all this Flaubert bashing rather unsavoury. I read Madame Bovary several times and this is typically a book I read for the beauty of the writing style, not the story, exactly like Anna Karenina. It seems to me that Amery is off-topic. Julien Gracq’s criticism of MB was more relevant.

It’s certainly a book (and opinion!) that I think will be divisive. I’m not well versed enough in Flaubert to really decide at the moment, because it’s so long since I read MB. Amery obviously feels very strongly about the subject, but I’d be very interested to read Gracq’s take on the subject – must look that out! 🙂